Today was without a doubt

the longest day in history. I can not explain why it went so slowly, but it did. All the kids were sick, which I knew was coming, Lexi having been struck down the earliest, and the others were bound to follow, particularly considering at how close quarters they all are, giving each other cuddles and kisses all the time, and drinking from each others water bottles and cups and whatnot. So I really wasn't surprised when last night sucked a bit and then this morning it seemed as though mucous had taken up residence and bred overnight, so pyjama day it was, and slothing was in high demand.

I have a philosophy when the kids are sick. Basically they can pretty well have whatever they want (within reason of course) because they just aren't feeling well and I remember what it feels like to feel sick and sometimes you just want to have a dry biscuit or a juice or a piece of apple with a milkshake chaser.

I'm pretty tired. I'm not really sleeping all that much, and when I do it is interrupted, as is this post, by mini people coughing. Or wriggling. Or moving. Or just wanting a cuddle. And that's where my job comes in.

Most people that don't have kids don't understand that of all the jobs there are in the world without a doubt the most difficult of all jobs is that of the stay at home mum. No other job are you on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for around 18 years. No other job are you expected to drop everything to attend to one of your charges. No other job do you work under these conditions purely for the love of it. I have worked night shift. I have worked tough jobs that are unrelenting and unrewarding. But I have never before worked as hard as I have worked in these last three years looking after my babies.

I'm anticipating going back into the workforce next year. In preparation for this the girls have started daycare 2 days a week. That is not the only reason either, it's due to the enormous amount of study required for my course, and I'm finding it difficult to function on next to no sleep. And let me tell you, essays don't flow so easily when you are sleep deprived, which then leads to frustration which leads to inability to sleep even though your body is literally shagged beyond belief from the day's activities and all you wish for is some shut eye and to turn off for even five minutes.

But I digress. Being a mum is not easy. And it is made more difficult every time your child coughs. Or cries. Or is miserable. Because you want to make it better, and sometimes you just can't.

And I can't. Threefold. And it is torture. And mums will often say they would rather be ill themselves than see their children go through it, and I have also said this. And it has happened, because I can feel my eyes getting that droopiness that sickness brings, and I have the tickle that started at the back of my throat and has now spread to a mat of discomfort, and I know I'm getting sick too. I just want to sleep. I really really just want to sleep. And I can't. I probably could if I lay down, but lying down just means I Have to get up again, and at least if I stay semi-upright when I need to get back up again it isn't so hard to do, whereas if I lie down and begin to relax it hurts more, if that makes sense.

To be honest with you I have absolutely no idea what I have just written. Lexi is coughing and I am anticipating her waking within a matter of seconds, upset, wanting me to help but not wanting me to help because she feels yuck and just wants to stop feeling yuck. Agh. Such a cruel world when babies get sick.

And so I go, to watch whatever the hell I have on the television, which has been on for some 45 minutes now and I seriously could not tell you what it is, and hope that the babies start to settle and that maybe, just maybe, I might grab a little shut eye myself. I can hope.